


From a London Park

by LateStarter58



Series: Theme and Variations: Tom and Livvy into the future [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, love letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Tom is missing Livvy, even though they are only apart for the day. So he writes her a letter.





	From a London Park

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in response to a request for love letter- themed stories. It is part of the continuing tale of Tom and Livvy - you can read their beginning in my novel An Opera in Five Acts by Sarah Reason, on Amazon Kindle.

_My darling_

I miss you

I know you will laugh when you read this, because it is less than four hours since we sat together at breakfast. Mock me mercifully my darling. You also laugh when I do my Will impersonation and say you are my precious life and without you I am less than whole. But it is true. I resent every moment we are apart.

_Every. last . nanosecond._

No. I am not going to let you blame my current set of circumstances for these ‘feels’ as you called them this morning. I miss you and I love you. I would acknowledge that my present misery has taken me back in time, to those dark days when I was afraid that I had lost you before I had even had the chance to try…

More than once in those dark months I almost wished I had never seen you in Paris. Can you believe that? I guess it was and is that feeling of utter desperation when the thought of not knowing what I was missing seemed better than the life I had: to have been so close, and now to be so far…

We love our work (you KNOW I do, in spite of everything I murmured as I left the house this morning… It’s THIS one BLOODY job!), we have such fulfilling lives, but work is still separating us: yours and mine. Even for these few hours, it is hard to bear.

So, my darling, book May 28thto 31stas time off in your calendar. Non-negotiable. We are going to Paris. Bohème at L’Opéra.  Top floor, extra-luxurious atelier in Le Marais. You should see the size of the bed. Oh, you will see it.

I miss you

We have broken for lunch. It is not that nice a day, but still I have come out to that little park around the corner, you remember the one? That squirrel is still around. He hopped onto my shoulder when I sat down. He is so tame! I think he mistook me for someone else: now a smartly-dressed man has sat on the bench opposite and is feeding him what look like _Minstrels_ … He takes each one so delicately from the man’s fingers, runs away and buries it under one of the standard roses! It seems this is a regular date for them both…

I wonder; what are you doing now? Are you fully-immersed in Boulez yet? Maybe you are outside in the air too, perhaps looking at the Thames? Do they let you out of the Hall on these ‘immersion days’? I am thinking that if I were to get up now and run, I could get to the Embankment and wave across the water… I would see you: your hair glows like a flame, and on an overcast day like this it would be easy to spot.

I miss you. I need you.

Oh my Livvy, I feel so awful! I want to run, to hide and never go back. I have chosen this, I know; I went against good and faithful advice to take this job. And now I pay the price of my own stubborn determination to prove them wrong, because nothing about this is right.

NOTHING.

That man. I cannot even write his name. Just to think of him makes the bile rise in my throat.

So instead I will think of you, so near, so far; just a short flap or two of a gull’s wings from me. Over the buildings and across the river. Standing, your beautiful face into the wind which is ruffling your hair. Your green eyes gazing at the grey old Thames as it marches on by. Your head is full of music as you let the cool air refresh you before the next stage of your day with old Pierre. I can see you now, leaning on the parapet, swaying just a little to the sounds only you can hear… Is it something from Bohème? I have heard you humming those tunes as you dance around the kitchen from time to time. Do they make you as happy as they do me?

Whatever the music is inside you today, there you stand on the South Bank, the cold breeze finding you, because he loves you too. You pull that lovely red coat of yours tighter around your body; I want to hold you. Are you thinking of me too? Of how my arms can wrap around you and pull you against me to keep you warm? Of how my lips can dance across your neck to the tunes we share? Of the beautiful music we write together?

I think you are.

I miss you

I love you

_Your Thomas_


End file.
